The Forgotten Son
by Tania-Terror
Summary: It's been I don't know how many days since I left. Time just sort of blends together at this point. The loud thumpa thumpa in this crowded club feels like it's reverberating through my skull. It's probably the drugs.


**The Forgotten Son**

* * *

 **Notes:** Takes place in s4

slurs tw, drug abuse tw, first person fiction

Summary: It's been I don't know how many days since I've left. Time just sort of blends together at this point. The loud thumpa thumpa in this crowded club feels like it's reverberating through my skull. It's probably the drugs.

The idea for this fic came to me when I was listening to the song Walking Disaster by Sum 41.  
I'd say enjoy but this fic is kinda sad tbh ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

* * *

 _And now I've been gone for so long  
I can't remember who was wrong  
All innocence is long gone  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

It's been I don't know how many days since I've left. Time just sort of blends together at this point. The loud thumpa thumpa in this crowded club feels like it's reverberating through my skull. It's probably the drugs. Somewhere between the fifth and seventh song I stopped caring if my dancing was any good. I don't really care. The guys here don't care either. That's not what they come here for. That's not what I come here for.

There's a hand running up and down my left calf and I look down from the stage to see what the guy looks like. He's older, but not as old as some of the guys in here, not as old as I've been with, mid-thirties maybe. Whatever. I give him my best 'wanna fuck me?' look. It's probably terrible but he doesn't seem to mind and squeezes my calf, smiling a gross, sleazy smile.

When I get down the stage he brings up a hand and offers me a funny white powder. I snort it without question, the substance burning up my nostril. I lead him towards one of the empty rooms for a private dance. I actually kind of hate these. The stage makes me feel famous and important, but in here it's different. Guys can sometimes talk too much in here, or they get handsy, which they're not supposed to be. There was only one time a guard had to come in to my defense. That probably won't happen this time, but there's always a chance. You never know.

I start off slow but when I press my hips down into his with more pressure he slides a hand up my thigh. I give him a warning glare and he gets the message, removing his hand and placing it flat against the black velvet couch. It all feels like it lasts shorter than it actually is. Time, what the fuck is time?

The guy leaves and I sit on the couch for a minute thinking about nothing and everything all at once. I take some of the cash tucked into the waistband of these way too tight shorts and begin to count. The night's just started but I've already got a good amount of tips. Is this all I'm worth now? Am I just a whore? Am I just like...

No, I can't think about her. Because then I'll think about _him_ , and that's worse.

I take a deep breath, wiping away stray tears, smudging the cheap eyeliner I'm wearing, and return to the dance floor.

I dance for a few songs and then do some private ones and then go back to the stage. This is how my nights usually go, except I don't go home with anyone tonight. Monica and I found each other and I'm supposed to meet her at the house she's staying at. So when my shift is over, which is after two, I start on my walk to the address she gave me.

It's an abandoned house, should have figured. I walk up the narrow staircase and look around. It's dark. "Monica?"

"Monica?" I say a little louder, walking until my feet bump into something. Somebody's covered in a heap of blankets and I wonder grimly if they're dead. I crouch down and carefully pull the covers back. It's her. It's my mom.

Shaking her lightly, I repeat her name until she wakes up. "Hey, Monica. It's me. It's Ian."

She groans awake and looks annoyed with me, almost like she doesn't recognize me. I wouldn't blame her. I don't even recognize me.

"Ian, what are you doing waking me up like this?" she asks hoarsely and bleary eyed. "Leave me alone," she says pulling the blankets over her head again.

Sighing, I sit back against a wall and light up a cigarette. I don't know what I expected.

* * *

"Hey, sleepyhead," Monica sings into my ear.

I sit up abruptly from my half-sleep and she encases me in her arms. She's kind of warm.

"Wanna go get some breakfast?" she asks gleefully. "Let's go get some breakfast. I'm starving!"

The foul mood she was in last night is apparently gone and she looks at me with a bright smile on her face.

"C'mon, Ian! Let's go to a diner or something. My treat." She reaches an outstretched hand at me, happy and inviting.

I smile back at her. "Okay."

She takes me to a small diner a few blocks away from the house. It's old with tacky wallpaper wrinkling off the walls. We sit at one of the booths and order some eggs and sausages and coffee.

Monica places a hand over mine. "I'm so sorry about last night, Ian. I was just tired."

"I know," I say, letting her deceive me.

I don't care that it's a lie, I miss her. At least I think I do. Maybe it's just the idea of her that I miss. The idea of who she could be, or maybe it's the idea of who I could be, who I was. I miss _something_.

"I feel empty."

I don't realize I've said this out loud, or the fact that I'm crying now. All I feel is Monica getting up from her seat across from me and settling beside me. She wraps her arms around me and I finally cave. I cry, but it's quiet. Monica pets my hair and I feel six years old again, comforted by my mother after I fell off my bike and scraped my knees.

Thankfully I've calmed down by the time our food comes. We eat in silence for a few moments, still sitting next to each other. Monica absentmindedly wipes the final tear off my face, and I turn to look at her. She gives a comforting smile and pinches my cheek affectionately.

"Tell me what's going on with you."

And I do. I tell her more than I've ever told anyone about anything. I don't tell her about what happened before I left though, I don't know if I could ever talk about any of that, just that I had to leave. When I tell her about joining the army she gets this proud gleam in her eyes, and when I tell her that I had to leave that too she doesn't look at me like… like anyone back home would. Sad and pitiful. I fucking hate that look.

"It's a good thing you're getting away for a while," Monica says after I'm done. "You've been through so much, baby. More than anyone should ever have to go through. You need this break."

"Should I go back?"

"Only if you want to."

"Is that why you didn't come back, because you didn't want to?" I regret the words immediately.

Monica just smiles through her hurt, she probably feels like she deserves it. "You're all better off without me."

"You're here right now and I don't mind." It's only day one but I mean it, really. And it's only a matter of time - there's that funny concept again, time - before Monica fucks up again, but until then I want to enjoy this.

"You're a sweet kid," she says warmly.

* * *

We spend the day hanging around town, visiting some of Monica's dealers. It's weird, getting high with my mom, but I like it.

Later, she comes in with me for my shift at the club. It'd be weird too if Monica watched me dancing up on a bunch of strange guys, but she's distracted by the drag queens she's chatting away with. I can't help the smile growing on my face. This is the first night since I've started working here where I've actually felt happy without drugs. Well, not as many drugs anyway.

The music flows through me easily, doesn't feel like it's pounding inside my head. It's a good, floaty feeling. I've felt this way before, around the time I left the army. I thought I'd never feel this great again.

And this is my new day and night routine: breakfast at cheap diners with Monica, smoking shitty weed with Monica, hanging out all day with Monica, partying all night with Monica, go to sleep, repeat. I can't remember the last time we've spent so much time together. Days turn into weeks and I wish it could go on forever. Just me and Monica. Just me and my mom.

About an hour ago we just got back from a party, but I'm too keyed up to sleep, even if it's past three in the morning. I decide to smoke by an open window because there's nothing else to do. My skin tingles all over but it's not from the season growing cold. I'm just hyped. I feel like something good is going to happen. And why shouldn't it? Things have been shit for too long.

My phone dings with a message but I ignore it. After I finish my cigarette, it dings again. It's a text from Mandy. My eyes go wide. I don't want, or need, to think about all that shit back home right now. Before I can stop myself though, I'm going through photos of me and Mandy. Fuck, I miss her. But it's like Monica said, they're better off without me.

I come upon a picture of Mickey and my heart drops. I thought I had deleted all of these. I had to nag him for an hour for this picture. He's making a dumb face, and I'm smiling. I'm smiling and I'm happy because Mickey Milkovich took a fucking selfie with me. Fuck, and now I'm thinking about him, and how much I miss him, and how much I lo-

"Is that Mickey Milkovich?"

"Shit." I turn around where Monica is looking over my shoulder. "I didn't hear you wake up."

She ignores how startled I am and asks, "Were you fucking Mickey Milkovich?" When I pocket my phone and look away slightly embarrassed, she gasps. "Oh, my god, you totally were!"

"I don't wanna talk about it. I left. It's over."

She just smiles slyly at me, doesn't push for more information. I'm glad Monica gets me. Sometimes I think she's the only one who does, or ever will. But then I remember Mickey. Maybe we didn't always understand each other, but there were things we just _knew_. Things we didn't have to say out loud to communicate. Like, how sometimes we stared at each other longer than either of us intended. The way how his hands always felt hot and burning when he touched me. Or, how the few times he kissed me it felt urgent and hungry. There was something in all those moments that we just _knew_. Things I now wish I could forget because it hurts too much to remember.

"Terry caught us," I blurt out, but it's barely a whisper. It's all I say. It's all I need to say, because Monica gets me. Because Monica knows. She knows whatever I'd say after that wouldn't be anything good.

I cry in her arms again like that first day at the diner. I cry, and I'm finally able to fall asleep.

* * *

When I finally wake up, it's past noon. Monica's gone.

It's okay. I'm okay. It was time for her to leave. We had our time together, and now it's time for something different, something new. I can't help but laugh. Time, what the fuck is time?

"You Ian?"

I look up from my sleeping spot on the floor and see and old, white-haired woman walking towards me, a cigarette gangling from her mouth. "Who are you?"

She ignores me and asks again, "You Ian?"

"Yeah."

"Here, Monica left this for you."

I take the folded up piece of paper she hands me and she retreats to her now designated side of the house. I open the letter and read.

 _~ Dear Ian,  
I'm sorry for bailing out on you like this - again. You know me, I can't stay in one place for too long. I get restless. But I know you'll be okay, more than okay. You're stronger than all of them, I know. And I know I'll see you again. I love you, baby._ _\- Monica ❤_

Well, that's that. But I'm fine with it. Smiling, I know Monica is where she wants to be, so I won't miss her, not yet. And I know I'm where I want to be, for now.

* * *

Today I'm bar tending at another club. I wish I was dancing because the music just sounds so great. I can feel it deep down in my bones and I can't help but laugh at nothing. Everything just feels so good all the time. It doesn't matter that Monica left. It doesn't matter that I left. All that matters is that I'm having a good time. And I want to keep having a good time for as long as I can.

Mixing a drink I'm sure is totally wrong, something catches my eye when I glance at the club entrance. It's Lip and Debbie. I almost can't believe it. As good as I was feeling before, I feel even better now. I'm so happy. I thought I'd never see anyone from back home ever again.

 _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_ _I will be home in a while  
_ _You don't have to say a word  
_ _I can't wait to see you smile  
_ _I wouldn't miss it for the world_


End file.
